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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30023364">The Darkest Star</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowersforgraves/pseuds/flowersforgraves'>flowersforgraves</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>please help I'm in depeche mode hell [46]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Blaseball (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Angel Tyreek Olive, Background Sutton Dreamy/Rivers Rosa, Chicago Firefighters (Blaseball Team), Hurt/Comfort, Implied Leathersex, Kink Negotiation, Light Dom/sub, Long-Distance Relationship, Non-Romantic Intimacy, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, Panic Attacks, Season 1-2 (Blaseball), Worldbuilding, that kind of relationship you're not sure whether to tag as / or &amp;</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 23:00:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,153</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30023364</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowersforgraves/pseuds/flowersforgraves</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A fire and a firefighter walk into a bar. </p><p>There's no punchline.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tyreek Olive/Landry Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>please help I'm in depeche mode hell [46]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1130651</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>We Are Fanwork Creators</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>special thanks to the firefighters lore server for encouraging me, and especially to babytriumphant here on ao3 for writing the flagship tyreek/landry fic.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Look, all I’m saying is that this is our chance! We can finally get Rivers to stop pining after Dreamy!” Declan bounces on his toes, eyes alight with excitement.</p>
<p>Tyreek almost hates to burst his bubble. “There’s no way we’d get her to agree,” they point out, swirling the coffee in their mug just to watch the tiny vortex it forms. They’re sitting at a small, round table in the corner of the kitchen, Spoon leaning on the counter and Caleb pouring himself a cup of cocoa.</p>
<p>“Does she need to agree?” Spoon asks, arching one eyebrow behind her blindfold. “She probably doesn’t even need to know until it’s too late. But, you know, it’d be basically impossible to get her here without Rivers knowing.”</p>
<p>She knows far too well how to needle Tyreek into a challenge. Their mind is already racing with the logistics, how to reach out to the Crabs and arrange transport for Sutton Dreamy’s sleeping body. </p>
<p>Caleb narrows his eyes at all three of them. “I’m having nothing to do with this,” he announces. “I want that on record.”</p>
<p>Declan throws an arm around his shoulders. “It’s too late! You’re already involved, Alvarado, might as well go all in!”</p>
<p>Tyreek closes all six of their eyes, still trying to pretend they’re not fully invested in this plan now. “This can’t end well,” they murmur. </p>
<p>The all-team dinner date is six weeks away. Rivers Rosa making their life miserable is less than fifty meters away. </p>
<p>“Okay,” Tyreek says, opening all six of their eyes and leaning forward. “Here’s what I’m thinking.”</p>
<p>Caleb sighs deeply and leans on Tyreek’s shoulder, bumping his forehead against their halo. “I maybe know a guy who can get Dreamy a ticket that’s dirt cheap,” he says, sounding far more put-upon than he really should. “I have connections in Baltimore, but I don’t wanna use them if I don’t absolutely have to.”</p>
<p>“Perfect,” Spoon says. “Tyreek?”</p>
<p>They lay out a broad outline for their co-conspirators, wondering vaguely if this is the fastest turnaround time yet from being vehemently against a plan to orchestrating it. But fuck it. They’ve got a good feeling about this one. “You said you had contacts in Baltimore, Caleb?”</p>
<p>“I guess,” he says dubiously, but Tyreek can hear the excitement coloring his voice. “When do you want her in?”</p>
<p>Tyreek considers. “Rivers can’t know until day-of. So we need someone to run interference.” They’ll need a woman if they’re going to pretend it’s a date, but Tyreek figures they could maybe swing something platonic with a friend from another team regardless of gender. “Declan, your job is to get Lou on board. She’ll definitely have someone up her sleeve – or hell, maybe she’ll do the job herself.” They lace their fingers together, turning to Spoon. “You,” they say, pointing at her, “need to get the rest of us dates.”</p>
<p>She blinks. “Um, no?”</p>
<p>“Um, yes,” Caleb says. “I am not letting Rivers take revenge on me if I can help it. Even if I’m just calling in a favor for you.” He stabs a finger at Tyreek without pushing himself away from them, nail mere inches from their upper eye on the left side.</p>
<p>Tyreek gently redirects their finger to Declan. “Yes, well, that’s why, Spoon. And since I know you and Whit are probably going together –”</p>
<p>Spoon scoffs. “Just because I have a husband doesn’t mean I don’t need a date for this dinner thing Butt’s cooked up,” she says, then relents with a twinkle in her eye. “But you’re right, I’m sorted already. I already have someone in mind for Caleb and I can call a few people for you, Tyreek, but Declan might take some doing.”</p>
<p>Declan jerks. “Hey! What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?” </p>
<p>She pats him on the head, between the cat ears on his headphones. “Don’t worry about it.”</p>
<p>Declan claps his hands together in the way Butt sometimes does, but where it gives them an air of frazzled authority, Declan only musters an almost comedic level of pomposity. “Alright team! Let’s do this thing!”</p>
<p>“Why did I let you talk me into this,” Tyreek asks Spoon as Caleb and Declan leave together, chattering animatedly about Minecraft.</p>
<p>“Because you can’t resist a pretty face?” She sits down at the table next to them. “Or a challenge?”</p>
<p>“I’m thinking it’s the second one,” they say, draining the last of their coffee. “Remind me why you didn’t stop me?”</p>
<p>Spoon grins. “You’re supposed to be mentoring me, not the other way around. So, oh wise and learned sage, what the fuck?”</p>
<p>Tyreek laughs, and lets the warmth of the coffee and the camaraderie fill their chest until they could almost sob. “Don’t do what I do,” they tell her. “First advice for the day? Don’t let the person you’re mentoring know how bad you are at resisting a challenge.”</p>
<p>She blows them a kiss, and the smile on her face is soft and familiar. They want to stay in this moment longer, but Rivers’ voice comes over the speaker system. “All Firefighters scheduled for the next 72 hours, please join me in the office to review the duty roster,” she booms. </p>
<p>“Better go,” Tyreek says.</p>
<p>Spoon snorts. “Planning for failure already?”</p>
<p>Tyreek leans their head against her stone shoulder. “Yes, my dear student. Here’s another bit of advice: never underestimate Rivers Rosa.”</p>
<p>She leans back into them. “Yeah, that’s fair.”</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Tyreek calls Landry when they get off shift. Their body is sore and aching from the adrenaline crash after they’d responded to a call, and they desperately need to not think about work. </p>
<p>“The fuck,” Landry says, sounding like Tyreek just woke him up. </p>
<p>“Sorry,” Tyreek says. They do mean it; the time difference between Chicago and Hades is variable at best, and they of all people know the value of a good night’s rest. “If you’re busy I’ll let you go.”</p>
<p>“No, no.” The rustling noises from Landry’s end pick up, and Tyreek can hear him moving around the room in his apartment. “Is something wrong?”</p>
<p>They shake their head before remembering he can’t see them. “No, I just needed to get out of my own head for a while. Just got off a hard shift.”</p>
<p>Landry’s voice softens a little. “Yeah?” </p>
<p>“Yeah.” They don’t elaborate.</p>
<p>“You want to watch some trashy TV?” Landry asks. “I can come over if you want.”</p>
<p>“I really need to sleep,” Tyreek says, which isn’t exactly a no. Landry doesn’t push it, though, for which they’re grateful. They check the clock. “Wait, don’t you have a game tomorrow? Today?”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Landry says. “I already sent my jacket to someone. I’m basically at loose ends until game time. No team activities today. Scorpler wants to take the whole practice field alone for a while.”</p>
<p>“What for?” Tyreek asks, intrigued despite themself. </p>
<p>They can practically hear Landry shrug. “Honestly? Who knows. No one’s going to try and spy on him. What if we see him disintegrate or something?”</p>
<p>Tyreek snorts. “He’s made of scorpions, Landry, he can just reform himself.”</p>
<p>“I don’t wanna risk it,” Landry protests, but Tyreek hears the smile in his voice. Now that he’s made them laugh, he’s content to sit quietly and let Tyreek talk if they want to. </p>
<p>They don’t want to say anything. Instead, they catch themself off guard by yawning. “Fuck, I need to sleep,” they mutter.</p>
<p>“Go to bed, Tyreek,” Landry says. His voice is quiet and soothing, and Tyreek wishes briefly and foolishly that they’d said yes to him coming over. “It’s time to rest. I’ll be here tomorrow if you still wanna chat.”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Tyreek says, and yawns hugely. “Okay.”</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Landry is sitting in their chair when they wake up, legs crossed at the ankle and feet up on the edge of their desk. His head is tipped back, and he’s half asleep. </p>
<p>“Get out of my chair,” Tyreek says, still not quite alert. </p>
<p>It’s painfully hilarious to see Landry nearly fall out of the chair in surprise. “Hells, Tyreek, warn a guy, will you?”</p>
<p>Tyreek sits up and rubs their eyes. “Says the man who invaded my room while I slept and set himself up at my desk.” They’re trying to hold back laughter; Landry’s semi-serious defensiveness is always a response to being caught unawares.</p>
<p>“In my defense, you weren’t using it,” Landry says, grinning back, and pats out the tiny spark that had leapt from his hair to the fabric back of the chair when he’d been startled. “I just wanted to see how you were doing.”</p>
<p>They pull on a shirt, still under the covers. Certainly, Landry’s seen them shirtless before, but when they’re having sex it’s different than Landry watching over them as they sleep. “As you can see, I’m fine,” Tyreek tells him. “Now shoo so I can get dressed. There’s going to be plenty of things to do today since it’s a city holiday, so you can go ahead and raid the fridge if you want.”</p>
<p>“A city holiday?” Landry asks, frowning. “Isn’t the – wait, what? Don’t you work on Mondays?”</p>
<p>“Well, no, it’s Pulaski Day,” Tyreek says. </p>
<p>“It’s what day, now?” Landry frowns.</p>
<p>“Pulaski Day,” Tyreek repeats. They pause. “You don’t have that in Hades, do you.” It’s not really a question; they’re more reminding themself that Chicago is different.</p>
<p>Landry shakes his head. “Never even heard of it. What’s Pulaski?”</p>
<p>Tyreek shrugs. “Polish soldier back in the late 1700s. Awhile back the Chicago mayor needed the Polish vote, so the city government instated a Polish war hero’s birthday as a city-wide holiday to try and appease them. It’s not really that important now, but there are certain things we do on that day.”</p>
<p>“I can’t imagine what kind of traditions you’d have for a political holiday,” Landry says dubiously.</p>
<p>“Well, it’s less about Casimir Pulaski himself and more about, you know, having a day off work,” Tyreek says. “I mean, you can do traditional things or not, it’s still a day off for most people.”</p>
<p>“But not firefighters.”</p>
<p>“But not Firefighters,” Tyreek echoes, leaning just a tad on the word, delineating Firefighting from firefighting. “We have to be on call in case someone’s Pulaski Day kitchen bonfire gets out of control.”</p>
<p>Landry stops tapping his foot on the floor. “In case someone’s what,” he says, completely disbelieving.</p>
<p>A grin slowly spreads across Tyreek’s face. “Pulaski Day kitchen bonfire,” they repeat. “Have I not mentioned that before?”</p>
<p>“What – what does that involve?” Landry asks hesitantly.</p>
<p>Giving up on getting him to leave, Tyreek gets up and starts making the bed. “You make a bonfire. In your kitchen. On Pulaski Day.”</p>
<p>“That – What,” Landry says again, dumbly.</p>
<p>Tyreek smiles so widely their face starts to ache from the pressure. “The Pulaski Day kitchen bonfire,” they say again, slower this time. “It actually originated as a protest. A lot of workers with lower-paying jobs didn’t get to take the day off, so someone – we don’t know who – started a fire at the restaurant they worked at. So now we have the Pulaski Day kitchen bonfire.”</p>
<p>“I,” Landry starts, and stops. “That – really?”</p>
<p>Tyreek almost feels bad about the lie, but they figure someone will eventually correct Landry’s misconception, and lean over to press their forehead against his. “That’s Chicago, Landry.”</p>
<p>He throws his hands up in response, but lets his eyes flicker shut as he relaxes against them. “If you say so.”</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>They play blaseball. They go on shift. They sleep. They practice. They play blaseball. They go on shift. They sleep. They practice. The routine would be monotonous if it wasn’t so stressful, the sick anticipation of waiting for a call and the dark adrenaline rush of being on the way to an alarm, the physical exertion of blaseball practice and firefighting conditioning, the team coming together and falling back in waves, assembling at the dinner table or the office or the practice field. Atlas drapes herself over the back of Tyreek’s chair right before bed, when they’re half-dozing in front of the TV, the Tigers game droning in the background. They lean their head back against her arm, and she pats their forehead. </p>
<p>“Hey, you,” she says, fond.</p>
<p>“Hm,” Tyreek says, and yawns in her face. </p>
<p>She blows air at them, and they close all six of their eyes tight. “You got a date for Butt’s thing?”</p>
<p>“Mm.” They refuse to engage their brain until they have to, preferring to let the sounds of their teammates wash over them without actually processing. “Spoon’s helping me.”</p>
<p>“So you’re actually trying to set Rivers up with Dreamy?”</p>
<p>Tyreek cracks open all the eyes on their right side. “What makes you think that?”</p>
<p>She shrugs. “Declan can’t hold his beer.”</p>
<p>“It was Declan’s idea,” Tyreek informs her, blinking as they try to focus. “Spoon tricked me into it.”</p>
<p>Atlas grins. “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me. But it’s probably not gonna save your ass, because, uh, she’s maybe on her way right now?”</p>
<p>The only thing that could have gotten Tyreek up faster is an emergency calling for all hands. “Shit, Atlas!”</p>
<p>She rolls over the back of the chair, taking their newly vacated spot. “Good luck, bud!” she laughs.</p>
<p>“Olive!” Rivers has a powerful voice even when she’s not on the PA, and Tyreek does their utmost to avoid having her yell at them.</p>
<p>They duck out into the hallway, intercepting her before she can invade the lounge. “I’m right here, Rivers,” they say, hands up placatingly.</p>
<p>“Call it off,” she says before they can even start trying to deflect. “Ah-ah-ah – no. Don’t talk.” They bite their lip and wait for her to finish. “Did you really think I wouldn’t figure it out?”</p>
<p>Tyreek waits an extra beat to make sure the question wasn’t rhetorical. “No,” they admit. “I didn’t expect that, but you know how I am about impossible tasks.”</p>
<p>She narrows her eyes. “So this was a fucking game?”</p>
<p>“No!” Tyreek is genuinely hurt that she would assume they’d play games with her love life, but considering – yeah, it’s fair. “No, it was the four of us thinking it’d be a nice surprise to invite someone we know you like but would never ask.” It’s not exactly what happened, and glosses over the actual argument, but the intent of it is true.</p>
<p>Rivers stares into their eyes. Tyreek opens their second and third pairs just to focus on her. After a long, long moment, she says, “The only reason I’m not setting you up with Tillman is that it’d make Declan happy.”</p>
<p>“I already have a date,” Tyreek says, hoping like hell that Spoon has already come through. “Look, I’ll owe you one, okay?”</p>
<p>She puts a hand on their shoulder, the gentle touch at odds with the thunder on her face. “You already owe me one, Tyreek.”</p>
<p>As soon as she lets them go, they do a quick strip-change, and head to the weight room to confront Spoon.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Predictably, Spoon is already deep in calf raises when Tyreek shows up and starts setting their chest press. She rolls her head from side to side, working out tension in shoulder muscles she doesn’t have. She preempts their question – which she’s apparently able to read on their face, which is… slightly disconcerting – with, “No, I don’t have a date for you. Why?”</p>
<p>Tyreek huffs. “Rivers didn’t come give you a tongue-lashing for playing around with her love life?”</p>
<p>She turns to look at them. “She found out?”</p>
<p>“I’m trying very hard to not dance around shouting that I told you so. Do a quick spot for me?” They lay down on the bench and position their hands on the bar. Spoon stands behind them, watching as they start doing reps. “Not only did she find out, but she threatened to set me up with Tillman.”</p>
<p>There’s audible disgust in Spoon’s voice. “That’s just cruel. Did you tell her you already had one?”</p>
<p>Tyreek finishes their set and racks the bar with a grunt of effort. “Yeah. Not entirely sure she believed me. Which is why I was hoping to come back to her today or tomorrow and be able to say ‘see, I do so have a date, and it’s this person,’ instead of desperately needing to call in favors or something.”</p>
<p>“Do you want the good news or the bad news first?” Spoon asks. </p>
<p>Sitting up, Tyreek casts a baleful glance over their shoulder at her. “Spoon.”</p>
<p>“The good news is that Tillman is previously engaged,” she says. “So Rivers couldn’t set you up with him if she wanted to.”</p>
<p>Tyreek closes all of their eyes. “Is the bad news that he’s already coming?”</p>
<p>Spoon’s silence tells them everything they need to know.</p>
<p>“Yeah, I probably should’ve guessed. I’ll call Landry. He’ll help.” They lower themself back down onto the bench, and prepare for a second set. </p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Almost forty-eight hours later, Landry meets them outside Superdawg in the dead of night, because that’s when Tyreek gets off shift. The red lights of the hot dog statues’ eyes blink ominously above them, and Tyreek leans against the base of a lightpole.</p>
<p>“I fucking hate those things,” Landry says from behind them.</p>
<p>They barely glance over their shoulder at him. “You’re the one who said we should meet here,” they point out, in what is probably slightly too irritated a tone to count as reasonable. “I suggested the Pilsen museum, but you said no.”</p>
<p>“That’s because I know how to get here,” Landry tells them. “I’m not going somewhere new at ass-o’clock in the morning because you need a favor.”</p>
<p>“Spoon let me down,” they mutter, mostly joking. “I need a date.”</p>
<p>Landry leans in close to stare at them. “You what,” he says, very close to their ear.</p>
<p>They reach behind themself, blindly, and grab his wrist to pull him around to the front. “I said I need a plus-one. Do you want the long answer or the short answer?”</p>
<p>“Am I going to regret asking for the short answer?”</p>
<p>Tyreek considers. “Maybe?”</p>
<p>Landry snorts. “Hit me.”</p>
<p>“The short answer? I don’t want to commit murder in the firehouse.”</p>
<p>There’s a long silence before Landry says, “Okay, how about you hit me with the long answer?”</p>
<p>They heave a sigh, finally let go of Landry’s wrist, and start explaining. “Butt got this thing in their head about social outreach to other teams. They put their foot down and set up one of our game nights to be a dinner date instead. Everyone who’s not already seeing someone needs to invite a member of a different team over.”</p>
<p>Landry narrows his eyes. “And you need me why?”</p>
<p>Tyreek crosses their arms over their chest. “Because Declan’s a bastard and Spoon knows how to manipulate me.”</p>
<p>“You know that really doesn’t clarify things, right?” Landry asks, but Tyreek sees that some of the tension has left the set of his shoulders, now that he’s sure they aren’t in some sort of life-threatening trouble.</p>
<p>“Well,” they begin, “Rivers has a hopeless crush on Sutton Dreamy that she thinks is a secret. Do you see where this is going?”</p>
<p>The smile Landry’s failing to hide tells them he knows exactly where this is going. “Explain it to me,” he says, mock-serious. “Connect the dots.”</p>
<p>“Fuck you,” Tyreek mutters affectionately. “Declan had the brilliant idea to fly Dreamy in from Baltimore to set her up as Rivers’ date, and roped Spoon into it. And she knows exactly how stubborn I can get, so when she set it up as an impossible task, I really didn’t have a choice, now did I?” </p>
<p>“Sure,” Landry says, unsubtly rolling his eyes. “That sounds like a Tyreek problem that Tyreek would have. So Rosa found out, I assume.”</p>
<p>“And now she’s threatening to set me up with someone else,” Tyreek agrees. “Tillman Fucking Henderson is going with Declan, so I need someone there who I actually like. And it’s tomorrow.” </p>
<p>There’s a long pause, during which Tyreek nearly regrets every single choice they’ve ever made that’s brought them to the point of asking their (very attractive) close friend to pretend to go on a date. They wonder vaguely if this would be better or worse if they actually wanted a romance with Landry, and conclude that it’s awkward either way, so it doesn’t really matter.</p>
<p>Tyreek can’t help but track the way Landry’s eyes move over them, over their lips and shoulders and crossed arms, and they deliberately shift, trying to draw his attention back up. “So?”</p>
<p>“It’s a date,” Landry says, and Tyreek is fiercely glad that their skin is dark enough to hide the worst of the flush that heats their face. “What, uh, is there a dress code?”</p>
<p>Tyreek hears the real question behind Landry’s words: do I need a host? They shrug. “No, no dress code.” They narrow their eyes dubiously. “Don’t come in your uniform, though.”</p>
<p>“Never even crossed my mind,” Landry says with a smirk that tells Tyreek the exact opposite. “I’ll see you then.”</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>True to his word, Landry shows up outside the Tigers’ practice field at precisely 3 PM the following day. Tyreek allows themself a brief moment to appreciate his good looks – there’s a reason Landry’s the hottest player on the Tigers (and, in Tyreek’s personal and private opinion, possibly the whole ILB) – before walking over to join him. Landry is dressed to the nines, a slate-grey tuxedo jacket and slacks over a wine-red shirt, with a bowtie that matches the jacket pinstriped in Tigers maroon. The fire of his skin is softened by the cloth over top, and he looks like he’s glowing rather than blazing. </p>
<p>Tyreek wants to kiss him. </p>
<p>“Hey,” Landry greets them. </p>
<p>“What’s with the formalwear?” they ask. “I told you, no dress code.”</p>
<p>Landry grins. “I look hot in a suit,” he informs them, like they don’t have all six eyes trained on him. </p>
<p>“You look hot in everything,” Tyreek says.</p>
<p>He shrugs. “It’s my nature,” he says airily.</p>
<p>They snort. “Right, ‘Violence is always an attractive option.’ And you’re never gonna let anyone forget it.” Despite the fact that Landry’s a guest and Tyreek is playing host, they feel underdressed in their jeans and polo. </p>
<p>“I can change, if you want?” Landry offers, hesitant for the first time.</p>
<p>“You don’t have to,” Tyreek says. “But, you know, everyone’s going to be a lot closer to dressed like me than dressed like you.”</p>
<p>There’s a tiny puff of smoke, and Landry reappears a second later. He’s manifested with shorter hair, this time, the fire curling down over his ears and nearly to his chin rather than past his shoulders and done up in a long braid. He’s still wearing dark slacks and a button-down, but this is very much a dressed-down Landry. The denim jacket that contains the spirit of Violence when Landry’s not physically manifesting is thrown over one shoulder, the fabric thin and soft from wear and wash. “Is this better?” he asks.</p>
<p>“Much,” Tyreek says. “I’m no longer embarrassed to be seen in public with you.” They offer their arm to him, like a Victorian gentleman to a lady at a ball. “Shall we?”</p>
<p>Landry slips a hand into the crook of their arm. “Chauffeur me to your shitty stadium,” he says.</p>
<p>“It’s not the stadium,” Tyreek says fruitlessly, and Landry grins and squeezes their arm gently in response.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>In his human form, Landry is made of smoke and steel and flame and the heat of him is pressed against Tyreek’s side, warming them not unpleasantly. They would probably be more impressed with the manifestation if he wasn’t also practically bleeding fear into the air.</p>
<p>“Still with me?” Tyreek asks him in a low voice, elbowing him in the ribs.</p>
<p>Landry gives him a cocky, if shaky, grin. “Never stopped,” he says.</p>
<p>But Tyreek can still feel him shaking ever so slightly, and they want to reach out and comfort him so badly. They restrain themself – they’re not quite sure what level of touching Landry’s comfortable with here in the firehouse, and besides, Landry knows he can always turn to Tyreek and ask for whatever he needs.</p>
<p>Except thirty seconds later, the thing Landry says, teeth clenched and eyes tight, is, “I need to step out for a minute.”</p>
<p>“Okay,” Tyreek says. They look at him, careful and measured. “Do you want me to come with?”</p>
<p>Landry stares back for a second that stretches too long. “If you want,” he finally replies.</p>
<p>“Let’s go,” Tyreek says, and puts a hand on Landry’s back to steer him toward the exit. Landry practically bolts for the door as fast as he can (while still maintaining the devil-may-care attitude that drives Rivers nuts), and once they’re outside, Landry leans his back against the brick of the wall.</p>
<p>Tyreek finally lets themself wrap a comforting arm around Landry’s shoulders. “You okay?”</p>
<p>Immediately, Landry leans into it, eyes squeezed shut as he turns to face Tyreek and closes the distance between them. Reflexively, Tyreek folds him into an embrace, cupping the back of Landry’s head with one hand. “Listen, Violence,” Tyreek starts. “I’m sorry. I – I shouldn’t have asked you to come here. I know you don’t like to be around all of us –”</p>
<p>“You gave me plenty of chances to say no,” Landry interrupts, voice muffled by Tyreek’s shoulder. “On the fucking ride over you said I could go home if I wanted and I told you to fuck off.”</p>
<p>“That’s true,” Tyreek admits. “That is a quote. But still. I shouldn’t’ve asked you.”</p>
<p>“I don’t know if you know this, Tyreek, but I’m very stubborn,” Landry says.</p>
<p>Tyreek actually laughs at that. “News to me,” they tease. “Here I was thinking you were a pushover.”</p>
<p>Landry snorts. “I’m selective about it. Anyway, what do you think I am, a coward? If I don’t go in there and defend your honor, Rosa’s going to kick your ass, and then where will you be?”</p>
<p>Tyreek’s arms tighten around him. “I can handle Rivers,” they say. “If you wanna ditch, we can go grab dinner somewhere else. I don’t mind.”</p>
<p>Landry turns his face into the join of Tyreek’s neck and shoulder, the flames of his hair curling pleasantly around their jawline. “If you’ve had enough air, I’m ready to go back in,” he says, an obvious sidestep. But he still doesn’t let go, and Tyreek is perfectly content to stay like this for as long as Landry wants.</p>
<p>“If you want to sit in my bunk for a bit, you can,” they offer after Landry makes no move to shift at all.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Landry says. “I think that’s – yeah.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm at the kink negotiation part. I'm at the dunking on Tillman Henderson part. I'm at the combination kink negotiation and dunking on Tillman Henderson part.</p><p>Content warning for kink talk and casual sex-shaming. Tillman's just a piece of work in the back half of this chapter; he gets one line and it's him being a shitlord.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Landry barely makes it through the door to Tyreek’s room before he has a panic attack. He slams the door shut in their face, because he’s going to fucking die if he doesn’t have privacy, and he leans back against it and hyperventilates.</p><p>It’s like the fucking setup to a joke. <em>A fire and a firefighter walk into a bar.</em> One Firefighter is fine – Tyreek specifically is better than fine, they’re one of Landry’s best friends, and the casual intimacy between them is comforting and safe. Two Firefighters tend to be okay. Tyreek and Spoon, or Tyreek and Alvarado, or Tyreek and Rosa, and Landry can hold his own, because he likes Tyreek and he likes spending time with them and the people they hold dear. Three Firefighters starts to get iffy. Landry doesn’t <em>like</em> it, but he can handle it fine. Four or five is too many, let alone all fourteen members of the team in one room.</p><p>Like a fucking joke. Landry is a being of fire and blood and rage, and the Firefighters are <em>not</em>, and it should be funny: the comedy framing of Landry flinching from water, recoiling from the Firefighters, a matter-antimatter explosion that erupts from holding Tyreek’s hand. And it’s not, it’s not like that at all, it’s something deep and visceral and he just <em>can’t</em>. He can’t, can’t breathe, can’t think, and he scratches at his arms to try and ground himself, because being around the Firefighters sets off something so ingrained in him, that these people would destroy him if they knew the depth of what he is, that they would snuff out his existence in a heartbeat given the chance.</p><p>He calms down slowly, his face pressed against the cool floor of Tyreek’s room, fingers curled to dig into the narrowest of gaps between tiles, and he finally stops crying. Dragging himself to Tyreek’s bunk, he wraps himself in their sheets. The pillow smells like the shampoo Tyreek uses, and it’s comforting in a way Landry doesn’t really want to examine. He stays there, knees drawn up to his chest, for a long time, staring blankly at the wall in front of him.</p><p>When the door opens, the tension that’s drained away from him starts building back up, but it’s just Tyreek. They don’t even turn the light on.</p><p>“Violence.” Tyreek’s voice always gets so fucking soft and gentle, when he’s <em>Violence</em> and not <em>Landry</em>. Somehow in context it’s always fine, though Landry’s sure he’d rather be stabbed to death a thousand times than have anyone else take that tone with him.</p><p>“Olive,” Landry says tightly. <em>Don’t try to baby me,</em> he doesn’t say. <em>Don’t leave me alone,</em> he doesn’t say. <em>Don’t let anyone else see me like this</em>, he doesn’t say.</p><p>Tyreek flashes a grin, the light of their halo bouncing oddly off their teeth. “Are you claustrophobic?”</p><p>Landry’s brain short-circuits. “Um,” he says intelligently.</p><p>“Come on,” Tyreek says, offering their hand. Landry takes it and stands, but balks when they try to lead him back out into the main room. “Hey. It’s okay. We just gotta walk through and then we’ll get out, okay?” Their tone is still soft, and Landry holds onto it like a lifeline.</p><p>“I don’t,” Landry says, hears his own voice as if from very far away, “know if I can.”</p><p>Tyreek cups his face with both hands, spreading their wings to block his view of the door. “Look at me, Landry.”</p><p>He does, takes a shuddering breath, curls his hands into fists. “Okay,” he says. “It’s okay. I’m okay.” He’s not, and they both know it, but Tyreek lets him have the lie.</p><p>“You’re gonna walk out that door and follow the left-hand wall. I’ll be right there with you, alright? And then I’m going to take you downstairs.” They’ve been slowly backing toward the door, taking Landry with them, and now at the entrance to the main room, they fold their wings down against their back and usher him forward.</p><p>Landry takes three steps into the room before he stops being able to tune out the noise. He can feel the ambient conversation in the room swell, presumably because Tyreek is glaring at anyone who tries to interrupt them, and his eyes catch on Caleb Alvarado’s sword. The hilt is bright and it hurts to look at, but Landry can’t take his eyes off it even as he keeps walking at Tyreek’s prodding, and he doesn’t know how to stop, and –</p><p>“I said eyes front, Violence,” Tyreek snaps. Their voice is sharp with focus, not anger, and it helps. The panic doesn’t recede – no one’s that good, not even Tyreek – but the waves of it feel ever-so-slightly weaker. Their hand on his back is reassuring, grounding. “Take a left here.”</p><p>Landry turns, mechanical, and keeps walking. Following Tyreek’s instructions is easier, and slowly the sounds of the Firefighters’ dinner fade from his awareness.</p><p>They direct him through several more turns and down a staircase before he can think clearly enough to try to orient himself. His sense of direction is usually pretty good; it has to be to do the work he does for Hades, and aside from the obvious places that deliberately disrupt his internal compass, he can find true north consistently and quickly. But down here – wherever the fuck here is, walls dry and close enough to touch on both sides, a thickly oppressive darkness that seems to swallow the light from both Tyreek’s halo and Landry’s own flame – he can barely tell which way they’ve come from, let alone get himself stabilized.</p><p>“Where are we going?” he asks, voice a ragged croak.</p><p>Tyreek’s hands tighten on his shoulders. “The Axeman’s forge,” they tell him.</p><p>They seem to know where they’re going, and Landry trusts them implicitly, so he doesn’t ask any other questions. He’s in the process of wracking his brain to try and remember any time Tyreek’s mentioned the Axeman before (and can’t recall so much as a mention) when Tyreek stops them in front of a heavy metal door. It has a placard on it, coppery overlay cracked with age despite the obvious care for the material, and the text on it reads, in bold letters, The Axeman Cometh.</p><p>“What is this?” Landry asks, as Tyreek pushes open the door.</p><p>Tyreek shrugs. “The Axeman’s forge,” they repeat. “He’s our armorer.”</p><p>“That where Alvarado’s sword comes from?”</p><p>“No,” Tyreek says. “No, our equipment for both firefighting and blaseball comes from him. He makes bats and respirators and whatever else we need.” They go quiet after a moment, and Landry steps into the room behind them.</p><p>The forge is hot, a dark, dry heat that reminds Landry less of Hades than he thinks it probably should. The lighting is dim at the outskirts of the room, with a spotlight shining down on the anvil and another on the bellows of the forge itself. Behind them, the door clicks shut with an odd finality.</p><p>Looking around, Landry sees a variety of metal sculpture. Some looks like repurposed firefighting equipment, some more abstract, and still others the equivalent of a crumpled up draft of a novel. The stone walls seem to absorb much more sound than they should, as Tyreek’s heavy boots barely make any noise on the floor. “I didn’t know you had your own manufacturer,” Landry says quietly. “Are – do I get to meet him?”</p><p>“No.” Tyreek’s voice is sharp, loud in the deathly quiet of the room. “No,” they repeat, more softly, tempering whatever emotion it is that Landry can’t quite get a read on. “The Axeman’s forge is almost sacred to us. The Axeman himself barely leaves. You’re the only outsider who’s been in here in…” They pause, considering, and finally settle on, “Years.”</p><p>Landry knows when he’s not supposed to ask any more questions, and out of respect for Tyreek, he holds his tongue.</p><p>Then, Tyreek’s phone buzzes. “It’s Rivers,” they say. “I’ll take this really quick, alright?”</p><p>Away from the Firefighters, Landry feels a lot better, so he nods and lets Tyreek take a few steps away. Even so, he can overhear their conversation.</p><p>“Tyreek, where are you?” Rosa’s voice is tinny through the speaker, probably from the layers of stone and earth separating them.</p><p>“Downstairs,” Tyreek replies, even. “I took Landry to the forge.”</p><p>There’s a pause, a meaningful silence, and then Rosa says, “Are you sure?”</p><p>Tyreek looks over at him briefly, flickering all six of their eyes open. “Yes, I’m sure.”</p><p>“Okay,” Rosa says. “Okay.” Her voice alters in tenor ever-so-slightly. “We’ll see you soon.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Tyreek says, and hangs up.</p><p>(The next time they’ll talk about the Axeman is later, much later, shoulder to shoulder in the cold dark of the Hall when Hades lays no more claim on Landry and Chicago no longer speaks to Tyreek’s soul.)</p><p>("If it makes you feel any better, there's no way my team would be on board with necromancy either," Tyreek will say.)</p><p>(Landry will tip his head to one side. "How do you know?")</p><p>(Tyreek, shoulders tense, will shrug. "It ruins the Call.")</p><p>("Meaning?" Landry still won’t really get the whole city-god thing, no matter how long he tries, but he still doesn’t stop.)</p><p>("To resurrect someone would be devaluing their life and sacrifice," Tyreek will say, fluttering the fingers of one hand as they try to explain. "And their response to the Call.")</p><p>(Landry will frown at them. "Wouldn't it be the opposite? Like, you were so good at your job we need you to come back and do it again?")</p><p>(Tyreek'll already be shaking their head even before Landry finishes a sentence. "No, it's more like -- it would be saying my sacrifice wasn't enough. That I owe more that I can't give." They’ll pause, considering, and hold up a hand to forestall Landry's next questions. "When you become a Firefighter, you give up a lot of your self-determination. Answering the Call means I don't choose whether or not to risk my life out there, it means I go where Chicago sends me, when She sends me, and I trust that She is sending me where I’m needed most. And it's... arrogant, I guess, to focus on saving one person in particular. Also dumb. It's fucking stupid to bring one person and not others back from the dead. Besides, the Axeman wouldn’t reforge anything for me.”)</p><p>(“Huh,” Landry will say, and fold his arms, and think about that night with Tyreek’s wings shielding him from the other Firefighters, and remember the warmth of the dark surrounding the catacombs.)</p><p>-</p><p>All in all, they spend forty minutes in the forge. Tyreek doesn’t need to tell him to keep his hands to himself; Landry’s not dumb and he knows better than to touch blessed objects that aren’t his. (They do have to tell him to leave, though, because he sees a flicker of movement in the corner of the room and stares for several minutes, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Axeman.)</p><p>With that break, Landry feels much more prepared to go into the dinner once more. Tyreek goes first, giving him another moment alone that stretches into five, then ten, then fifteen minutes. When he enters (finally, after he drags himself out of his thoughts), he’s very grateful he hadn’t waited any longer. Tyreek is engaged in a conversation of sorts, a circle of people giving them a wide berth, and Landry immediately knows what’s going on. His steps over to them are slow and measured, despite how much he wants to run.</p><p>Landry knows Tyreek intimately, knows their reactions and tells, but even without years of friendship and care, the spirit of Violence knows when fury is boiling in someone. The part of Landry that hungers for blood and pain and rage surges greedily, seeking the desire under Tyreek's glacial exterior. Instead of letting Violence subsume Landry, he quashes the urge to provoke with extreme prejudice, and grabs Tyreek by the wrist. Dragging them bodily away is probably not necessary, but Landry needs to make a point. “Hi, Tyreek,” he says, too loudly. “I need you to come over here right now.”</p><p>Tillman Henderson, the fucking sleazeball, grins lewdly at them. “So it’s true what they say then, Landry? You’re so desperate to get used you’ll even sleep with someone who hates everything you are, huh? I guess Violence really is easy.”</p><p>Landry can feel Tyreek tense beside him, and the intent to hurt rise in them – the slight against Landry’s ostensible virtue and Tyreek’s own taste in men, on top of whatever provocation Landry missed, is almost overwhelming. So instead of rising to the bait, or allowing Tyreek to get another word in, Landry just smiles, letting the grin stretch across his face in a grotesque caricature of amusement. Leaning in close, he whispers, “Give me an excuse. Give me a single fucking excuse, Henderson, and I’ll rip your goddamn throat out. I’ve been waiting to do this for a long time and the next word you say will let me.”</p><p>“Hey.” Tyreek’s voice is steady, barely betraying the heights of emotion underneath. “Let’s not.” With something else to focus on, Tyreek diverts their attention away from the rage festering in their gut and tugs Landry away from Tillman. It’s easy; Landry follows them without question, and then once they’re significantly out of earshot, he pulls on Tyreek’s sleeve to stop. He turns to face them.</p><p>“Do you trust me?” Landry asks urgently.</p><p>Tyreek blinks at him, taken aback. “What?”</p><p>“I said do you trust me,” Landry repeats, shifting anxiously.</p><p>“Of course I trust you. Landry –” Tyreek starts to ask what’s going on, but they’re cut off by Landry’s lips on theirs.</p><p>The kiss is rough, Landry’s lips chapped and Tyreek’s teeth sharp, but once they’re over the shock of it they settle into a comfortable position. They wrap one arm around Landry’s hips, the other hand on the back of his neck, and slowly, Landry relaxes, forcing himself away from the temptation to draw on Tyreek’s anger. At the same time, Tyreek’s white-hot rage cools by degrees, and Landry thinks about kissing the violence out of them until they fold under his hands, before he pulls back.</p><p>“What was that about?” Tyreek asks.</p><p>Landry leans his forehead against theirs, eyes half-lidded. “You know when you see an ex at a party and you really don’t want them to see you there, or if that’s not possible then at least you need to look like you’re having a good time being on a date with someone else so they know you’re way over them?”</p><p>Tyreek squints. “I guess?”</p><p>“Well, it’s nothing like that. Come on.” Landry grabs their hand, tugging them toward the balcony.</p><p>Outside, he says, “What the fuck were you thinking?”</p><p>Tyreek shakes their head. “I just – fucking Tillman, you know? But it would’ve been –”</p><p>“Fine? I think not,” Landry says. “You were about to do something you’d regret, if I hadn’t stepped in.” He tactfully does not say <em>you were about to punch his lights out</em>, because he’s not a complete idiot, and instead slips an arm around their waist as the door closes behind them, finally putting safe distance between Tyreek and Henderson.</p><p>“That… <em>man</em>,” Tyreek says. The amount of venom in their voice is startling. They shake their head again. “I don’t know what it is about him, but he just manages to set off all of my rage buttons.” They pause. “Also, I asked you to come so I could avoid an incident with Tillman, not so you could create one. What was with those death threats?”</p><p>Landry shrugs. “It comes easy to me. You know what they say about old habits.”</p><p>“And you know what they say about dying hard,” Tyreek retorts.</p><p>Landry elbows them in the ribs. “It’s hot,” he says, only half-joking. “When you’re mad.”</p><p>Tyreek snorts. “No it’s not,” they say. “He just makes me so <em>angry</em> so quickly, and it’s frustrating.”</p><p>“Henderson’s a real piece of work,” Landry agrees, and they go quiet. Then, after a long moment, Landry says, “You should fuck me while you’re angry sometime.”</p><p>“No I shouldn’t,” Tyreek contradicts, barely waiting for Landry to finish speaking. “It wouldn’t be – it wouldn’t be good. For either of us. I don’t want to hurt you.”</p><p>Landry casts a sidelong glance at them. Their gaze is firmly fixed on the ground, and they’re flexing their fingers like they’ve just thrown a punch. “What if I said I wanted you to hurt me?”</p><p>Tyreek barks a laugh, short and bitter. “Not like this, you don’t,” they say. “I’m not going to hurt you when I’m angry. You want to do pain stuff, fine, but don’t ask me to bring Tillman <em>fucking</em> Henderson into it. I don’t like the way I get around him and I don’t want to do that to you.”</p><p>“Yeah, I guess that’s fair,” Landry says, and feels them lean into his shoulder. “But you don’t – don’t take this the wrong way, but you’ve been angry before. I’ve seen you angry before. You’ve never seemed different.”</p><p>They sigh deeply. “That’s different,” they say. “Like, there’s a difference between hating someone for no reason – well, for petty reasons – and hating someone for harm they’re doing. It’s –“ They pause, choosing their words carefully. “When I’ve been angry before, it’s always directional in a way that I can use. It’s always something I can make productive. It’s the difference between ‘Tillman Henderson is a piece of shit and Declan can’t or won’t see that,’ and ‘these people are being systematically exploited.’ The second one is always something where I can see the problem, find a solution, and use my anger to take concrete steps to fixing that problem. The first one doesn’t have a solution, and I don’t like not being able to fix things. Does that make sense?” They frown at him, all six of their eyes open.</p><p>“Not really,” Landry admits, and puts up a hand to stop them from trying to continue. “But it doesn’t really need to make sense to me. You don’t need to justify or explain or anything, it’s your thing and all I have to do is stay out of it.” He leans against them, trying to wordlessly communicate his thoughts.</p><p>“Mm.” Tyreek turns their eyes back to the ground, closing their second and third pairs. “… I do own a riding crop, though,” they say speculatively.</p><p>Landry hesitates, then decides to go for the joke anyway. “Are we still talking about Henderson, or –?”</p><p>Tyreek laughs, a genuine, full-body thing. “For kink,” they say, and the warm thing in Landry’s chest that always shines a little brighter around Tyreek flares up.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Two weeks later, Tyreek calls Landry even before they’re technically off the clock.</p><p>“I can’t do this,” they tell him breathlessly, too exhausted to inject more than a hint of emotion into their voice. “Landry, I can’t.”</p><p>“Stay put,” Landry orders. “I’m coming to get you.”</p><p>He manifests mere moments later, coalescing from a red mist into something more human-shaped. Tyreek barely even registers the fact that he’s in a Tigers jersey; he dismisses the bat from his hand as soon as he sees them. “Hey,” he says, voice gentle in a way it rarely gets.</p><p>“Landry,” Tyreek says, and almost sobs as he pulls them in tight, supporting their weight as the fatigue starts setting in. Leaning heavily on him, they manage a few more yards before their vision starts to swim.</p><p>"You look like shit," Landry informs them, barely out of earshot of the blaze they’d finally been able to drop back from. Swammy has taken Tyreek’s place providing triage to injured victims, where they’d been doing their best to take some of the burden off the paramedics while Rivers directs traffic and Lou provides a friendly face.</p><p>Tyreek feels like shit, and probably looks worse, but they don't have it in them to be offended. "I know you are, but what am I?" they mumble nonsensically, into Landry's shoulder.</p><p>His arm around them tightens briefly. For a moment, Tyreek isn't sure if they'd imagined it, before Landry says, "Come on, Tyreek. Let's get you home."</p><p>Landry is warm and solid and, most importantly, <em>safe</em>. It's fucking hard for Tyreek to let go of their desperate need to control and fix every situation, but if they can trust anyone besides the other Firefighters to see them so vulnerable, it's Landry. So they lean into him, seeking comfort in the flames licking eagerly off his skin as if reaching for them and drawing them in. “Okay,” they say, tongue feeling swollen and dehydrated. “I want to sleep now.”</p><p>“Yeah, I know,” Landry says. “Come on.”</p><p>Tyreek doesn’t remember too much of the walk back. All they know is that at first the wind starts to sting with cold, and then Landry shields them with his body, and then they’re home. Inside the firehouse, Tyreek pulls on the clasps of their firefighting gear, fingers clumsy with exhaustion. Landry’s hands are warm over theirs as he gently moves them aside, starting to undo the buttons on their jacket on their behalf.</p><p>“Go ahead and lie down,” Landry says after he peels the jacket from their aching shoulders. “I’ll get your boots off and then we’ll get you some water.”</p><p>It’s less that they lie down and more that their legs refuse to hold them up. Through the depths of their exhaustion, they hadn’t realized how much Landry had been supporting them. Tyreek forces their eyes to stay open with significant effort, and lets Landry untie their boots. The intensity of his focus is flattering, though Tyreek wishes the situation was different so they could appreciate it more.</p><p>Landry hands them a red Solo cup, and Tyreek is suddenly and jarringly reminded of the first time they’d met. (It had been a party, welcoming new teams to the ILB several years ago, when Tyreek had still thought of blaseball as a temporary thing, a passing fad that Mx. Chicago would soon tire of sending her Firefighters in to play. The Tigers had been a powerful, explosive new force on the scene, and Tyreek, along with Butt and Caleb, had found themself suddenly thrown into being the face of the team for the night. They’d stood in the corner, all six of their eyes open and watchful, arms crossed over their chest. Landry, wearing the body of a tall human man, had unceremoniously shoved a drink into their hand and introduced himself. Tyreek had been taken aback, but as it became clear that Landry wanted to duck out of the public eye and hide alongside them rather than get them drunk and make a fool of them, they’d grudgingly accepted his overtures and they’d left arm in arm.)</p><p>The water is room temperature at best, but it feels like the best thing Tyreek has ever tasted. They barely stop themself from drinking the whole cup in one go, forcing themself to slow down so they don’t make themself sick.</p><p>“Go to sleep,” Landry tells them when they finally take a breath. “You need it.”</p><p>Tyreek’s eyes don’t slide closed quite fast enough to avoid catching the worried look on Landry’s face, but they can’t hold his gaze long enough to do anything about it either. Instead, they yawn hugely and let sleep take them as Landry climbs into the bed beside them, the warmth of his body against their back.</p><p>-</p><p>In the morning, Tyreek wakes up to the smell of something burnt to a crisp. Landry’s not in the bed anymore, but it’s still warm enough that they can tell he hasn’t been up long. He has, though, left them a full bottle of water on the nightstand. Fucking lifesaver, honestly.</p><p>They drink the whole bottle, much slower than they’d done the night before, but still probably too fast. Their muscles feel tight and sore, and they don’t relish the thought of getting up. Even so, Tyreek is a firefighter. More than that, they’re a Firefighter, and Mx. Chicago isn’t going to let them sleep the whole day away. A hot shower and whatever Landry’s burning in the kitchen will help, and then maybe they’ll be able to care for their team after the events of yesterday.</p><p>The hot water feels good as it sluices down over their aching shoulders. They hadn’t wrapped their hair last night, too exhausted to even think of it, but Landry had thought ahead and set out their hair care already for the morning. Again, lifesaver.</p><p>When they’re done in the bathroom, they walk out to the kitchen without bothering to put on shoes, the sound of their socked feet much quieter than the usual steel-toe boots. Even so, Landry hears them coming, and turns from where he’s standing over the gas burner, heating a tortilla.</p><p>“Morning,” he says, like it’s nothing, like Tyreek hadn’t called him in a panic fourteen hours ago, like this is something normal and sweet and good. Something hot swells up in Tyreek’s chest, affection or self-criticism or both, and they step forward to cup his face in their hands.</p><p>The kiss is warm and sweet and Tyreek can feel Landry being so, so gentle, hands just barely resting on their hips, birdlike. They dig their fingers into the fire of his hair, trying to communicate without words that it’s alright. Instead, Landry melts against them, opening his mouth and making a quiet noise in the back of his throat.</p><p>Tyreek laughs at how easily Landry folds under them, nothing more than a breath, and Landry kisses it from their mouth, still so <em>fucking </em>careful. They shift their weight, pushing him backward against the tile of the kitchen wall, and he gasps, letting them control the kiss.</p><p>They pull back, feeling Landry briefly try to chase their lips, and brush the back of their fingers along his jaw. “It’s okay to touch me,” they tell him. “You don’t need to treat me like glass. You’re not going to hurt me.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Landry says, “but I like this.”</p><p>-</p><p>Several hours later, Landry leaves with little ceremony, just a quick curse under his breath before disappearing into a cloud of red smoke. Tyreek doesn’t bother to hide the grin on their face – no matter how many times it happens, being summoned always seems to catch Landry unawares.</p><p>Tyreek cooks breakfast, or maybe it’s dinner, for the others, trailing in one after the other in a long, straggling line over the course of hours. They don’t wake Lou, who’s dead to the world in her bunk, but they do rouse Mullen from her half-doze in their communal living space. “Hey,” they say. “You want first pick of the food?”</p><p>A tired smile stretches across Mullen’s face. “You know I do.” She makes a plate, piled high with bread and cheese and scrambled eggs, and settles down to watch Tyreek work.</p><p>By the time Caleb comes in, tips of his ears still twitching from the noise level, Spoon is at Tyreek’s side, scrubbing pots and pans just barely fast enough to keep up. Ruthless is carefully curating a plate for someone – presumably Declan, who isn’t home yet – and spelling out insults in the cream cheese. Mullen’s dozed off again, and Atlas is just leaning on Tyreek’s shoulder, using them to hold herself up as she downs a glass of orange juice. Butt stumbles in last of all, glasses slightly askew and hair a rumpled mess. Even so, their face lights up when they see the leftovers.</p><p>It’s so <em>normal </em>it hurts. Tyreek’s breath catches in their throat as the sound of Dispatch surges in their ear.</p><p>But it’s not another call. “<em>We are from Chicago</em>,” echo the voices of Dispatch, and Tyreek wraps their hands around a mug warm from Spoon’s recent cleaning, and lets the Firefighters sweep over the room.</p><p>-</p><p>“Hey, come here and watch this,” Edric yells as Tyreek emerges from the garage, streaked in automobile grease.</p><p>“What’s up?” Tyreek asks, coming to stand behind him with a glass of water. The TV is on, turned to a splorts news station, and the end of the Tigers-Garages game is playing. Edric rewinds a few minutes, then looks up at them expectantly.</p><p>Highlight clips fade into what had been at the time a live feed, a splitscreen focused on two reporters on opposite sides of the field. One reporter manages to catch Jaylen Hotdogfingers, while the other catches an unfamiliar lizardfolk woman wearing a very familiar jean jacket.</p><p>“Landry Violence!” the man exclaims, and Tyreek can see Landry’s exhaustion behind the lizardfolk woman’s eyes. “Do you have a moment?”</p><p>“Of course,” the woman says, her voice layered with Landry’s. He’s rapidly been forced to become good at this, the public-facing bullshit, and Tyreek doesn’t envy him. The smile the woman wears is all hers and none of it Landry’s. “What can I do for you?”</p><p>“Obviously, a devastating shutout for the Tigers after two victories over the Garages –”</p><p>Edric fast-forwards a few seconds, as Tyreek stares down at him, unimpressed. “Just wait,” he says, forestalling Tyreek’s questions.</p><p>“And do you have anything to say about the rumors that you’re entangled in a star-crossed romance?” The reporter asks the question quickly, in a very sweet voice that almost belies a man his size. Tyreek’s jaw clenches unhelpfully, their second and third pairs of eyes flickering open.</p><p>In contrast to the earlier smile, this furrowed brow is all Landry. “I’m not aware of any such rumors,” Landry says in the woman’s voice.</p><p>Tyreek drops a hand to Edric’s shoulder, and Edric automatically reaches up to grip their wrist in comfort.</p><p>The reporter smiles again. “And how is your relationship with the Chicago Firefighters?”</p><p>The woman’s eyebrow twitches, an expression that is quickly suppressed with a sunny grin. “Obviously we haven’t played them yet, but I’m really looking forward to it. Hopefully next season,” Landry says brightly. “I think it’ll be a solid matchup. Our pitching rotation is probably better than theirs, but their hitters are probably better than ours, so I’m hoping for a good competitive series.”</p><p>Edric’s bitten-off nails dig into Tyreek’s wrist slightly, a gentle reminder to be aware of their surroundings. They ease off the pressure they’ve been gradually putting on Edric’s shoulder, patting him once in apology.</p><p>The reporter’s smile turns brittle. “What about Tyreek Olive?” he asks, and Tyreek’s fingers immediately clamp back down hard.</p><p>Landry is remarkably composed. Whether it’s the influence of his host or whether he’d been expecting the question, he deflects easily enough. “Actually, the Firefighters’ shortstop is Baby Triumphant. Ruthless, I think they go by. Kind of a weird mistake to make, to mix up their third baseman and their shortstop?” It’s an offhand but pointed comment, and Landry speaks over the reporter’s protests. “Like I said, we haven’t played the Firefighters this season, but I’ve watched a few of their games. Ruthless is good – wouldn’t be the Chicago shortstop if they weren’t – but I think we can handle the Firefighters.” He gives another flashy grin, and it’s only because Tyreek knows him so well that they can see the extent to which Landry is trying to rein in his temper.</p><p>Edric hits the button to pause it. “This goes on for, like, another ten minutes,” he says.</p><p>Tyreek forces themself to let go of his shoulder, fingers creaking slightly. Edric rolls his shoulder to loosen it, and says, quietly, “I just thought you should maybe see that. Before it comes to you.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Tyreek says. “Thanks.”</p><p>-</p><p>There’s a beauty in running at night. Tyreek finally gives in to Isaac’s constant offers for them to join him for night jogs, and honestly, they’re kind of disappointed they hadn’t done it sooner.</p><p>“So,” Ike says, three miles down Lakeshore Drive.</p><p>“So,” Tyreek parrots, like they don’t know what he’s about to ask.</p><p>“You and Landry Violence, huh?”</p><p>Tyreek shrugs. “Something like that. We’re – we’re like you and Caleb could be, if you’d just get your shit together.”</p><p>They take probably too much joy from watching Isaac splutter and go red, but really, it’s the small pleasures in life.</p><p>“Landry and I have been friends for years. We’re close, but no cigar.” The joke twists their mouth a little, thinking of the way Landry’s fingers hold a cigarette that he never smokes, just lights and lets burn like a candle. “We’re just getting more eyes now recently, I guess.”</p><p>Isaac snorts. “No pun intended?” He gestures to his own face where Tyreek has their second and third sets of eyes. Then, he sobers quickly, coughs slightly to clear his throat as they start up an incline. “Do you need anything? Media-wise?”</p><p>Tyreek shakes their head. “I’ll be fine,” they assure him. “There’s only so many opposites attract jokes to be made.”</p><p>Ike lifts an eyebrow, about to make a sarcastic comment, before he spots a flyer up. “Hold on,” he says, and takes a brief detour to look at it. Tyreek slows their pace to wait for him, before he comes sprinting back. “Keep an eye out for a dog, will you? It has a collar, short black fur, and answers to the name Sparky.”</p><p>“Will do,” Tyreek says.</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A Rivers interlude! Featuring telepathic mer!Wes, and long-distance YouTube hell dives.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Rivers fixes her headphones more securely around her ears. The evening will, hopefully, go smoothly, or at least won’t be interrupted by an all-hands emergency. She’d bribed Wes to keep her undisturbed – once she’d figured out his sweet tooth, it’s been downhill from there – and now that she’s settled in with a thoroughly doctored mug of decaf coffee and a box of Whleat Thlins, she’s ready to spend a relaxing night.</p><p>As the call notification pops up on the bottom of her screen, she grins to herself. <em>Perfect timing is perfect</em>. “Hi, Sutton,” she says.</p><p>“Good evening, Rivers Rosa,” Sutton Dreamy says. She sounds absolutely thrilled that Rivers had picked up on the first ring. “It is good to hear your voice.”</p><p>Rivers is twenty-nine years old, thank you very much, and she’s gotten over her high school crushes phase over a decade ago. Someone needs to inform her blush mechanism, though, as her face heats just a little in response, and she silently thanks her past self for refusing to do a video call. She’s pretty sure Sutton would be able to tell she’s blushing, despite the poor quality of her camera and the defense of her melanin. “Good to hear you too, Sutton. How’s work?”</p><p>Sutton laughs, a discordant sound from someone as elegant as she is. “The games are fine. I am looking forward to visiting Chicago again.”</p><p>“We’re always open,” Rivers says, even if she desperately does not want to draw the city any further into blaseball than it is already. “I’d be happy to come pick you up for a visit.”</p><p>She can hear Sutton’s smile in her voice. “That is a generous offer, Rivers. I would like to accept someday.”</p><p>“Well, you just let me know,” Rivers tells her. “I’m not going anywhere.” She’s from Chicago. That’s not going to change.</p><p>“In the meantime, would you like to see some elaborate confections?” Sutton asks, and shares her screen.</p><p>Rivers grins. “Sounds good to me,” she says, and takes a sip of her coffee.</p><p>-</p><p>By the time Rivers is down to the dregs of her coffee, she’s almost through the box of crackers, and they’ve somehow wandered away from videos of sugar sculpture and into ones of elaborate Rube Goldberg machines, with detours to entomology and miniature painting. Sutton is laughing at something she’d said, and something in the back of Rivers’ mind is pinging her danger sense. “Hey, I’ll be right back,” she tells Sutton.</p><p>“I will be here,” Sutton replies, her voice still ringing with echoes of laughter.</p><p>Rivers mutes herself, then gets up, socked feet quiet on the industrial tile of the floor. Carefully, she cracks open the door to see if anyone is around.</p><p>She’s never met someone as literal-minded and honest as Wes Poole. He’s sitting on the floor outside her door, sharp teeth bared slightly as they focus on the GameBoy in their hands. “You don’t have to actually stand watch,” she says, squatting down next to him, one hand still on the doorknob.</p><p>Wes shrugs. Their tongue, pointed and pink against the dark brown of his skin, flicks out briefly in a carefree gesture. [I’m fine,] he says, voice echoing a bit too loud in her skull. Noticing the way she winces, he takes his attention away from the game long enough to pat her knee. [Sorry.]</p><p>“Don’t worry about it,” she says. “My spidey-sense was just tingling a little. I wanted to make sure everything was still okay.”</p><p>They shrug again. [We’re all quiet here as far as I know. The closest thing to an emergency we had was Declan pinging everyone in the groupchat to ask if we wanted to play Mario Kart.]</p><p>Rivers snorts. “Thank god I turned off my notifications. Keep me posted, yeah? Don’t be afraid to interrupt.”</p><p>Wes grins. [Ten-four, boss.]</p><p>Her knees pop as she stands back up. “I’m too young to have bad knees,” she grumbles, and Wesley’s telepathic laughter follows her back into her room.</p><p>“Sorry about that,” she tells Sutton as she puts her headphones back on and unmutes her mic. “Just had to check on things real quick.”</p><p>“Is everything alright?” Sutton asks.</p><p>Rivers shrugs before remembering her camera is off. “Oh, you know. We’re holding up. Nothing that can’t wait, I’m just a little neurotic about check-ins.” She snorts. “I mean, you saw how wild we got during just that dinner party. We’re a nightmare on the day to day.”</p><p>The amusement in Sutton’s voice is palpable. “You do seem to be constantly putting out fires,” she says, and barely suppresses a giggle at her own joke.</p><p>Rivers chokes on the last of her coffee.</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>me, a fool: eventually I will run out of words on this fic<br/>-<br/>[puts my mouth very close to the microphone] stone butch Leatherman tyreek. thanks for your consideration</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The times that blaseball schedules line up for three teams to have a night out on the town – any town – are few and far between. In Philadelphia, Ruslan Greatness invites the Firefighters and Tigers to join the Pies in celebrating breaks between series. Both teams gladly accept, though Landry is less than thrilled by where the three teams end up.</p><p>It’s a bar and restaurant combo, the bar dimly lit and the restaurant almost painfully bright. Landry sits at the bar sullenly, nursing a Guinness that he doesn’t care enough to drink.</p><p>“H-hi,” says a skinny freckled kid – early twenties, if Landry had to guess, old enough to drink and young enough to not care about the consequences.</p><p>“Hi,” Landry says, somewhat warily, eyeing the kid without turning to face him.</p><p>The kid blushes, and Landry feels his heart sink. “I – could you sign this?” He offers a tlopps card, Landry’s own face smiling – “smiling,” closer to a feral grimace, teeth bared in raw destructive victory – up at him.</p><p>Landry puts on his public-facing smile. “Yeah, sure thing,” he says, reaching for the pen he keeps in his pocket for potentially disastrous situations such as this.</p><p>“And, uh,” the kid says, and yeah, here it comes. “Can I maybe buy you a drink?”</p><p>If Landry hadn’t already been on high alert, he would’ve jumped like a cartoon rabbit when someone slides an arm around his waist.</p><p>“Landry, sweetheart,” Tyreek says, “I know the Tigers are doing well this season, but you don’t need to rub it in.” Their voice is light and tone teasing, pitched loud enough to get the kid a reality check and quiet enough to make it seem unintentional.</p><p>Landry smiles at them. In contrast to the one he’d aimed at the kid, this one is real and full of relief. “Not my fault I’m recognizable, babe,” he returns casually. With Tyreek’s arm around his waist, warm and grounding, he feels much less adrift. He signs the guy’s collectible with a quick scrawl, <em>Violence</em> in black ink staining the back of the card, and adds a slight flourish on his first initial over top.</p><p>There’s a deep disappointment in the kid’s face when Landry pushes the card back over, but he takes the implicit rejection with good grace. “Thanks!” he says brightly, and Landry gives him a thumbs up as he melts back into the crowded bar.</p><p>It’s not the first time Landry’s been propositioned by a fan, and probably won’t be the last either. He hates it, hates the way they look at him with admiring fear in their eyes, hates the delicate social dance around it. A lot of the people who proposition him are challenging themselves somehow, daring their friends to try and spend a night in Landry’s bed, to see if they can survive someone who must be as sadistic as Landry.</p><p>Tyreek doesn’t let go right away, and Landry’s grateful for it. He leans his head against Tyreek’s, letting out a long sigh. “Thank you,” he mumbles, turning his face against their hair.</p><p>Tyreek squeezes their arm tight briefly, fingers digging into Landry’s hip. “Of course,” they say, and then, mischievously, “now, can <em>I</em> buy you a drink?”</p><p>Landry snorts. “Yeah, why the fuck not.”</p><p>“Planning to finish that beer?” Tyreek asks him. “Because if not, I will.”</p><p>“Go for it,” Landry says. “As long as you’re not driving.”</p><p>Tyreek gives him a look, which he probably deserves. “Landry.”</p><p>He lets go of them long enough for them to pull up a chair next to him, and then cracks open a straw. “Do you want to do the high school sweetheart milkshake thing?” he asks, looking up through his eyelashes demurely.</p><p>Tyreek chokes on a laugh, but then their eyebrows draw down in a slight frown, and – “Fuck it,” they say. “Why not?”</p><p>-</p><p>An hour later, the dregs of the beer are still at the bottom of the pint glass, and the flame curling around Landry’s ears has the fuzzy, staticky edge of an alcohol buzz. Tyreek’s eyes are gentle as they look at him, and they carefully reach out to cover his hand with theirs. “You want to get out of here?”</p><p>“I thought you’d never ask,” Landry says. He’d thought his tone was pretty light and conversational, but it comes out much darker and more fervent than he’d expected.</p><p>Tyreek’s lips curl up at the corners slightly, amusement radiating from them. “Did it ever occur to you to ask <em>me</em> if <em>I </em>wanted to dip?”</p><p>Landry is about to protest when Tyreek lifts an eyebrow. “No,” he admits, letting his shoulders slump dramatically. Then he straightens, shaking his head to clear some of the alcohol daze. “Honestly, I thought you were having a good time and didn’t really want to interrupt.” Saying it aloud makes it sound utterly ridiculous. Landry knows Tyreek has little patience for media coverage, and would prefer to avoid it entirely if they could. The bar, as they slip out a rear door, is still crawling with cameras and splorts journalists, and Landry’s more than happy to be leaving his teammates to field questions.</p><p>They laugh. “I can tell you know how wrong that is from the look on your face, so I won’t rub it in.” Tyreek’s shorter than Landry – not significantly, but enough that it’s noticeable – but their broad shoulders are much better for leaning on, so Landry does it, slings an arm around them and feels their muscles flex beneath their shirt. “What are you doing?” they ask, voice low.</p><p>“Do you have that riding crop?” Landry asks.</p><p>“At the hotel,” Tyreek replies immediately.</p><p>Maybe that’s something the city gave them, when they manifested out of the Flamingo: an uncanny ability to follow an erratic thought process. Or maybe they just know Landry himself too well. It’d probably be something worth talking about with them eventually. But not now. Very obviously not now.</p><p>“Residential street?” Landry asks, gesturing to his left. “Less lights. No one will recognize us there.”</p><p>Tyreek shakes their head. “Nah. Not worth getting out of the light in case something happens. Besides, you glow. Don’t tell me that doesn’t make you stand out even more.”</p><p>“Fair enough,” Landry says agreeably.</p><p>-</p><p>The Firefighters have rented rooms at a hotel, and Tyreek barely spares a nod for the attendant, who looks utterly starstruck, as they pass the front desk. Landry feels a frisson down his spine, as if he’s doing something illicit by going up to Tyreek’s room with them. Maybe it’s the fact that he knows the attendant will be texting their friends, passing on the latest gossip about the visiting teams. He’s…recognizable, in a way that most other people aren’t, because a short, stocky angel isn’t unheard-of in the same way a flaming destruction spirit is. (Sometimes he resents it. Most of the time, actually, because Landry hates being stared at like a public curiosity. There’s a good fucking reason he’s become more and more of a hermit these days; there are weeks that go by with no one except the stripes and Tyreek and Ren Hunter seeing his human form.) But it’s also nice, actually, that it’s Landry being taken back to Tyreek’s room and not the other way around.</p><p>Tyreek slows their pace to match Landry’s, and flicks all three eyes on the left side of their face open. “Penny for them?”</p><p>He frowns, not quite comprehending.</p><p>“For your thoughts,” Tyreek prompts.</p><p>“Penny for you to stop asking,” Landry says, digging through the pockets of his suit jacket.</p><p>Tyreek hums thoughtfully. “No, you don’t need to pay me. ‘Shut up, Tyreek’ works just as well.”</p><p>Landry hunches his shoulders as if it can deflect the gaze of the openly-staring hotel guest down the hall. “I’m not telling you to shut up, Olive. I like –”</p><p>Tyreek’s face splits into a grin, suddenly making them seem much younger. “You <em>like</em> me?” they tease. “You like hearing me talk?”</p><p>He can’t help himself from smiling back, the way the genuine amusement in their face shines through and catches in his lungs. “Not like <em>that</em>, asshole.” He swats at them ineffectively, with no real intent to make contact. “Now, now I’m telling you to shut up,” he shoots back.</p><p>And then he does make contact. Or, more accurately, Tyreek makes contact with him. They catch his hand between theirs, a firm clasp that makes his knees a little weak with the intensity of it. Landry can feel the part of himself that is Violence draw down, curling into an angry little ball in the back of his brain, and suddenly he wants nothing more than to let Tyreek quiet his mind with their hands and gaze and voice.</p><p>“Let’s go,” he croaks, almost painfully.</p><p>-</p><p>Tyreek sits him down on a chair in the corner of the hotel room with strict instructions to stay there. Landry’s fine with that; he’s already primed for easy obedience with the hold Hades has over all His servants, and Tyreek has more than earned the right to give Landry orders. His eyes drift half-closed as he lets the room fall out of focus, the Violence of him dulled with the relief of giving over control.</p><p>When Tyreek emerges from the bathroom, their hair shining damp from the shower, they’ve stripped out of their street clothes. Landry lets himself look; Tyreek will tell him if they want him to stop.</p><p>They’re shirtless under their jacket, cool and confident. Landry’s not leather, not the way Tyreek is, but he can sure as hell appreciate the aesthetic. He drops to his knees as if they’d planned it, Tyreek barely having to even look at him, already feeling himself slip toward subspace.</p><p>They still haven’t said a word, but the end of the riding crop tipping Landry’s chin up is more than enough. He opens his mouth almost reflexively, before remembering that Tyreek’s not going to oblige him that way. “Fuck,” he says instead, because, yeah, <em>fuck.</em></p><p>-</p><p>"If you break Tyreek's heart I'll kill you myself," Rosa says conversationally.</p><p>The flames from his fingertips licking at Tyreek's bedsheets flare in surprise as Landry jumps. It takes a second for him to register what she'd said. "Scared the crap out of me, Rosa," he comments, adjusting the collar of his shirt. "Where's the fucking firetruck when you need it? But first thing's first, we both know Tyreek can take care of themself." When she glares at him, about to retort, he raises his hands in surrender. "Also, if I broke their heart I'd deserve whatever the fuck you want to do to me, so if you're looking for a fight you should go somewhere else."</p><p>"Huh," she says, raising an eyebrow. "So this isn't just a hookup then?"</p><p>Landry considers. "No, I'm pretty sure this is just a hookup," he says.</p><p>She snorts. “Really? Are you lying to me or are you just stupid?”</p><p>“Statistically I’m probably just stupid,” Landry says, because he’s not lying. “I’m serious. This is just a hookup. If you want someone else in Tyreek’s bed, take it up with them. We’re friends, is all. With benefits, sometimes.”</p><p>Rosa narrows her eyes at him. He leans back on Tyreek’s bed, studiously casual, throws a leg over the side dramatically. “Now, if you’re not here to ravish me –” she half-chokes, and Landry’s not quite sure if it’s amusement or disgust “– then you’re gonna get a show when Tyreek comes back.”</p><p>“What the fuck is wrong with you?” she asks rhetorically, and shuts the door on her way out.</p><p>-</p><p>If Philadelphia September is beautiful, then Chicago October is brutal. Walking down Navy Pier in the driving rain, Landry ducks his head to try and keep the water out of his eyes.</p><p>“You didn’t bring a jacket?” Rosa asks, nose wrinkled slightly.</p><p>“It was summer when I left,” Landry says helplessly. “I forgot Chicago and Hades don’t really overlap in weather conditions.”</p><p>Lou tosses her braid over one shoulder. “You really need to prep for every single season whenever you visit Chicago,” she says. “We don’t really have extra stuff with us either.”</p><p>“Maybe he won’t forget to check the weather next time,” Rosa mutters, hunching her shoulders against the bitter sting of the wind. “Teach him a lesson.”</p><p>Landry is shivering, hands shoved under his arms and trying not to show it. His teeth are clenched to keep from chattering, and the fire licking off his skin and hair is subdued from the freezing rain. “I’m literally on fire, Rosa,” he says, bites his tongue to keep his voice under control. “Rain is bad for me.”</p><p>“You’re literally on fire,” Tyreek repeats. “That would seem like you’d be pretty warm.”</p><p>Landry disguises a particularly violent shudder as a shrug. “Yeah, but all my heat is escaping out. Nothing keeps it near me, only away, so I don’t get a lof of the benefits. It’s like when you have no hat on and all your body heat escapes off your scalp, but it’s my whole body.”</p><p>Tyreek hums. “Do you want to borrow my coat?” they ask.</p><p>Landry shakes his head. “Nah, I’m okay,” he says, lying through his fucking teeth.</p><p>They keep walking down the pier, and Landry sticks close to Tyreek to try and steal some of their body heat. He stares into the water of Lake Michigan for a moment, while Lou buys peanuts from a street vendor, and jerks in surprise when a heavy, warm weight drops around his shoulders.</p><p>Tyreek’s Firefighters jacket is thick canvas, stiff waterproof fabric that smells like laundry detergent and smoke, lingering even after dozens of washes. It’s warm from their body heat, and Landry pulls it tight around his shoulders. They make eye contact with him and smile slightly, and Landry’s eye can’t help but be drawn to their muscular shoulders and arms.</p><p>“You didn’t have to do that,” he says, because it’s true.</p><p>Tyreek hip-checks him lightly, with no real force behind it. “I know,” they tell him. “But it’s going to be distracting as fuck if you’re shivering through the whole thing.”</p><p>Already Landry is feeling some of the bitter cold drain away. “Thanks,” he says quietly.</p>
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